


raspberry-tender and mint-leaf sweet

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Crushes, First Meetings, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 01:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17214632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: Jen looks like Christmas has come early. "I know you so well, Madej. Picked out the perfect gift and everything.""You know, I don't think Ryan would appreciate you talking about him like he's an object," Shane says, a flippancy in his tone that's more for show than anything else."Ryan's not an object, he's a person. A person you have a big, fat - "" - order of cinnamon bread, comin' up!" Shane blurts, having caught Ryan coming inside from the corner of his eye.





	raspberry-tender and mint-leaf sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 8 of the Buzzfeed Creations Challenge! The theme was 'holidays', my prompt was 'gifts,' and my partner was the lovely MercurySkies!

 

_I got you a present!_

Shane squints down at his phone, more suspicious than excited about the innocuous text, partly because it's ass o'clock in the morning and partly because he knows Jen too well to take anything she says at face value.

_What, no hints?_ He scrubs a hand through his hair as he sends the message, a jaw-cracking yawn escaping his mouth. Jesus, you'd think he'd be used to early mornings.

_It's something you've been wanting for months_. Well, that's not much to go on. _He's fragile though, so handle with care. I'll know if you don't_.

_And you'll what? Beat me up?_

Jen sends him a pic of her fist and Shane snorts, slipping his glasses onto his nose as he climbs out of bed. The floor is icy beneath his feet and he shivers, toes curling against the hardwood, before heading for the bathroom. A hot shower and a couple cups of coffee should prepare him for whatever Jen has in store for him, not to mention the string of orders waiting to be filled before Christmas.

It's not until he's standing under the spray, running sudsy fingers through his hair, that he realizes he'd overlooked something.

_'He'?_

* * *

Shane's in the back of the shop, tossing on an apron and getting set to organize the day's orders when he hears the faint jingle of the front bell.

"'M here, Boss!" Jen calls, her voice surprisingly chipper for eight a.m. "Come out and see your gift!"

Shane shakes his head, fingers making quick work of his apron strings as he heads out front. He doesn't know what to expect, but Jen linking arms with a man Shane's never seen before wouldn't have made it very far up his list. The stranger's wrapped up in a puffy jacket and sporting a toque on top of dark hair, a dusting of snow on his shoulders, and he looks - well. Nervous. Maybe a little annoyed. Shane takes a stab in the dark and figures the bright red bow stuck to his chest is the culprit for the latter.

"Merry Christmas!" Jen pushes the guy forward, hands migrating to his shoulders and nudging him closer when he refuses to budge. "Ryan, say hi."

"Uh, hey," The man – Ryan, apparently – says. "Nice to meet you. I swear I didn't put her up to this."

Shane glances between the two of them, eyebrows climbing. “Up to… what is this, exactly?”

“You said you needed help for the holidays,” Jen chirps, drumming her fingers on Ryan’s shoulders. “I found you some. Well,” she amends, “he sort of found me. And now I’m giving him to you!”

“You sound like you’re pawning me off,” Ryan mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck.

It definitely sounds like she’s pawning him off, and while Shane’s admittedly a little intrigued about the history there, he’s more concerned with the state of his shop. “Do you have any baking experience?”

Ryan shoots Jen a triumphant smirk and chimes, "Nope."

“Don't listen to him,” she says cheerily, her lips stretching into a grin as Ryan yelps beside her and tries - and fails - to yank his arm from her grip, mumbling, _Pinching, Jen? Really?_ “I can show him the ropes.”

“I don’t know,” Shane hedges, looking between the two of them - Jen with her hopeful smile and Ryan silently shaking his head no beside her. Christ. "How about this? I'll give you a week, see how you do, and we'll go from there." There. Compromise. This is why he’s the boss.

"We accept your terms!" Jen says, enthused, and sets about pulling Ryan with her into the kitchen, his sneakers squeaking on the tile from the force of her grip. "You won't be sorry, boss!"

_I guess we'll see about that_ , Shane thinks, amused despite himself as Ryan follows gamely along behind her, clearly accustomed to the fine art of picking and choosing his battles and smart enough to know when he's been beaten.

* * *

Ryan settles into the swing of things relatively quickly. He's not a baker by any means, a fact he'd been quick to point out, "Just in case Jen tries to give you any ideas."

There's no special training required for heavy lifting or making deliveries, though, and it's a relief for Shane to leave those odds and ends to Ryan rather than having to take care of them himself. December is by far the busiest time of the year for them, and Shane admittedly tends to take on more work than he should, leading to a lot of late nights and little sleep. He can't help it though - he likes to make people happy when he has the means to do it, especially during the festive season when good cheer is in high demand and there's not always enough to go around.

"You need any help?" Ryan asks him one night, lingering behind after Shane had told everyone to call it a night but had made no move to leave himself.

"That depends," Shane had said, grateful for the company. He usually had music playing to combat the silence of an empty shop but conversation would be a welcome change. "You up for a little Baking 101?"

"That depends," Ryan had parroted, lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile. "Are you up for a little fire and screaming?"

"Best way to spend a Tuesday night!" Shane had joked, tossing an apron at Ryan's head and waving him over.

There had been no fire, thankfully, and the only screaming had come from the horror film they'd queued up on Netflix to watch on Ryan’s phone while they waited for the cookies to bake. They both seemed to have an affinity for film, and before long Shane had found himself drawn into a debate about their favorites and what sort of film they'd love to make if they ever had the chance. Ryan's had turned out far more detailed and involved than anything Shane had come up with, and he'd ducked his head and let out an embarrassed chuckle when Shane had huffed a laugh and quipped, "Thought about this a lot, have you?"

"It's what I went to school for," he'd confessed, shrugging his shoulders. "So I guess you could say I thought about nothing else for a long while."

"Film school, huh?" Shane had asked, impressed. "Kind of a far cry from a small town bakery."

"Yeah," Ryan had laughed, though it'd been a little more reserved than Shane had grown used to. Usually when Ryan laughed he did it with his whole body, shoulders shaking and head tossed back. He'd looked almost uncomfortable as he'd cleared his throat and said, "Nothing wrong with this place, though. It's a nice change of scenery, you know? I like it here."

Ryan was from California, of that Shane had learned early on, though he'd never really thought to ask why someone who so clearly felt more at home in warm weather would be spending the holiday season in Illinois. He'd only known Ryan for a few days, though. It wasn't his place to pry.

"So," Jen tells him after Ryan's week is up, her voice deliberately casual as she leans against the counter. "You gonna say it or should I?"

"Say what?" Shane asks, a touch distracted. Ryan's out on the sidewalk, back from a delivery and currently embroiled in a seemingly spirited conversation with little old Mrs. Peterson, a longtime patron of the shop who's taken quite a shine to him. There's snow in Ryan's hair and he's sporting a bright smile, nodding along to whatever Mrs. Peterson is saying, and it's... nice. A nice scene. Practically Christmas card worthy.

"Say that you love your gift," Jen says, and Shane's not imagining the extra emphasis she puts on _love_.

He shoots her a look. "Don't start," he says, and, when that only makes her grin wider, adds, "Jen. I'm serious. Don't."

"You're smiling," she observes. Shane purses his lips.

"Are not," he refutes, unconvincingly.

Jen looks like Christmas has come early. "I know you so well, Madej. Picked out the perfect gift and everything."

"You know, I don't think Ryan would appreciate you talking about him like he's an object," Shane says, a flippancy in his tone that's more for show than anything else.

"Ryan's not an object, he's a person. A person you have a big, fat - "

" - order of cinnamon bread, comin' up!" Shane blurts, having caught Ryan coming inside from the corner of his eye. "Jen, come help," he adds, injecting his voice with as much authority as he can muster. _I'm your boss and you have to listen to me_ , it says.

Jen smiles sweetly, the visual equivalent of a middle finger. "Why don't you ask Ryan? I'm sure he'd be a _great_ help."

"Sure, I can help," Ryan agrees readily, running gloved fingers through his hair to rid it of the accumulated snow, leaving the dark strands messy and a little damp.

Shane spends the next two hours teaching Ryan how to make bread. Shane spends the next two days trying to forget the image of Ryan’s biceps flexing as he worked the dough.

* * *

So Ryan is attractive. So what? So he's sweet and funny and helpful. So what? So they have a lot in common. So Ryan gets Shane's admittedly weird sense of humor. So they can talk for hours about stupid shit like their love of ambient sounds or popcorn flavors rated least to most appetizing without getting bored. Big whoop.

It doesn't mean Shane has a crush on the guy. What is he, twelve?

He just... enjoys Ryan's presence, that's all. They've become fast friends in the couple of weeks that Ryan has been working at the shop. They spend a lot of time together, is the thing. Shane spends a lot of time with Jen too, because they're _friends_. They're all friends.

He ignores the tiny voice inside his head - the one that sounds remarkably like Jen, in fact - that cheerfully reminds him of all the late nights he's been spending with Ryan lately. Just Ryan. Not just in the shop, either, but out on the town, showing Ryan his favorite hangout spots and the best restaurants. They'd even spent a night camped out on Shane's couch, their conversation fueled by popcorn and beer and the entire Star Wars film collection.

"My beautiful boys," Jen had sighed when they'd both stumbled into the shop the next morning with bags under their eyes and messy hair. "My dorky, beautiful boys," she had amended, after they'd sheepishly admitted that they'd lost track of time because of their impromptu movie marathon.

The point is, Ryan is his friend. A good friend. A great friend. A friend Shane wouldn't kick out of bed in the morning. A friend Shane wouldn't kick out of bed _ever_.

Fuck.

* * *

It figures that once Shane finally comes to terms with the fact that he has a thing for Ryan (he refuses to say the word _crush_. Jen refuses to say anything _but_.), his brain decides that it's the perfect time for him to stick his foot in his mouth.

He isn't thinking, is the thing, and if he had known... Well, if he had known, he wouldn't have said a damn thing. Or maybe he would, but he wouldn't have been such a fucking asshole about it. If he'd known.

Though that's just an excuse.

He asks Ryan a week before Christmas if he's going home for the holidays, assuming this'll be the case considering how often and how warmly Ryan talks about his family. He's a little surprised when Ryan tells him no.

"Oh? You can have the time off, you know. Your boss isn't that much of a blowhard."

Ryan doesn't laugh and call him something worse, which is what Shane had expected. Instead, he seems to stare down unseeing at the platter of sugar cookies he's in the middle of icing - Ryan's surprisingly adept at cookie decorating, with an eye for detail that more than makes up for his lack of experience.

"Did... did Jen ever tell you why I came out here?" he asks, and for a moment Shane's so caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject that he doesn't know how to respond.

"She said you were old college buddies," Shane eventually answers, recalling the little that Jen had told him about their history. "That you kept in touch since you graduated. That you - that you needed a change of scenery." He hadn't pressed for more than that and Jen hadn't offered. "That's about it."

Ryan sighs, his shoulders swelling and relaxing beneath the stretch of his long-sleeved shirt. "I was... I still am, I mean. Uh. Working at this company," he began, ducking down to continue icing the cookies, more out of a need to shield his face from Shane than any desire to complete the task, Shane thinks. "A video production company. I had a show on YouTube, talking about these crime cases that were unsolved, and then, when it kept doing well, another series about the supernatural."

Shane can feel his brows climbing.

"At first it was just me talking about cases, hauntings and ghosts sightings that no one could explain, but eventually I wound up going out to the locations, taking a cameraman with me, exploring. Investigating. You know."

"Uh huh," Shane hums, even while he's boggling a little at this new wealth of information. He tries to picture Ryan - Ryan who jerks at jump scares in terrible horror movies - tromping through old houses and crumbling asylums searching for ghosts, and almost laughs at the absurdity of it all.

"It was fine at first. It was fucking terrifying, doing that shit alone, even with the camera guy there because, you know, immersion and whatever, it was better if he kept quiet and just let me do my own thing, and the audience always ate it up whenever I freaked out. But, uh, we wound up going to this house for the season finale, and it was rumored to be the site of d-demonic rituals and all of this other nasty shit, and I promised to stay the night, something I'd never done before, but, uh, I ended up bailing before the night was over. It was fine, the episode did fine. People thought it was funny."

Shane opens his mouth - to say what, he doesn't fucking know – but Ryan barrels on, speaking faster, as though he’d heard Shane drawing in breath and needed to get this out before he was interrupted.

“I think something followed me home,” he presses on. “I think… I think something from that house attached itself to me because I was a fucking idiot and tried to t-talk to it and I – I felt like I was being watched all the goddamn time and I couldn’t stomach going back to my apartment at night because I felt like something was _there_ , and I – I found a priest and got a blessing and cleansed my apartment, all of it, the whole nine yards, anything that might help, and it _did_ , but I – just being there anymore… I couldn’t. So I got in touch with Jen and I came here.”

“You… “ Shane falters, wetting his lips and trying again. “You came here because you thought you were… “ He trails off, his mouth tripping over the word. It’s preposterous, he thinks. It’s absolutely fucking preposterous that he was about to say the word _haunted_. “Ryan,” he settles, and there’s a wobble to his voice, not laughter, more a noise of exasperation that he can’t smother at the last second. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

He can see the moment he fucked up in crystal-clear, painful clarity. Ryan’s shoulders go stiff beneath his shirt, his hands – his hands which have been fucking _shaking_ , what the fuck – stilling around the piping bag. For a long moment, the kitchen is painfully silent.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, his voice devoid of inflection. He sets the piping bag down, reaches to pull at the knot of his apron, his movements jerky and stilted. “Yeah, what am I talking about, right? How dumb am I?”

“Ryan,” Shane starts, alarmed. Sirens are blaring in his head, all of them screeching some variation of _You fucked up_ and _You’re an asshole_ and _**Fix this**_.

“I’m done here,” Ryan continues, and Shane has a moment of pure, dizzying panic before Ryan says, “The cookies are – they’re done, so I’m gonna. I’m gonna go.” He pulls off his apron and is out the door before Shane can even think about taking a step forward, the jingle of the front bell sounding through the shop with all the finality of a gunshot blast.

* * *

“You’re a fucking idiot,” are the first words out of Jen’s mouth the next morning. Ryan isn’t with her, and Shane tries not to read too much into that.

“I know, Jen,” he snaps, far more irritably than he means or has any right to be. He’d barely gotten any sleep after closing up shop the night before, his mind going back to the way Ryan’s voice had sounded, the way he’d shook, the things he’d said. The things he’d imparted on Shane in confidence, in _trust_ , only for Shane to dismiss them without a second thought because he was such a fucking goddamn idiot. “I – I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” she replies coolly, though there’s a spark of sympathetic concern in her eyes as she takes in his appearance, his bedraggled face and unshaved stubble coupled with the dark rings under his eyes. She sighs. “Look, I didn’t tell you what Ryan did back in California because I know what you’re like. I know you don’t believe in all of that – “ She waves her hand. “Ghosts. Demons. The supernatural, what have you. And that’s fine. But Ryan _does_ believe in it, he’s put himself through hell to try and find proof, and he’s done it all _alone_. Do you know what he was like the first week he was here?”

Shane shakes his head mutely, a ball of shame and guilt sinking like lead into the pit of his stomach.

“He was a wreck, Shane. He was anxious about his career and what might happen if he couldn’t get back out there, and he was afraid to go home and be wrapped back up in the same environment that had caused him so much stress in the first place. He has nightmares. Bad ones. The kind that makes it nearly impossible for him to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“But he – when he stayed over, he – “ He’d fallen asleep first, conked out hard and slept through the rest of the night. Shane hadn’t heard a peep from him until they’d both woken up late and had to scramble to get ready.

Jen sighs again, though it’s fond this time, rather than disappointed. “Use that big brain of yours, Madej, and tell me why that is. Tell me why he’s been so much happier these past few weeks, and sleeping better, and laughing more. You tell me.”

“The shop,” Shane croaks, feeling terrible and elated at the same time, a strange mix of sour and sweet that makes his stomach twist.

Jen nods. “The shop. It was a distraction at first, one I thought he needed, but now it’s – he really does like it here, Shane. He spends more time here than anywhere else. He spends more time with _you_ than anywhere else.”

“Jen,” Shane starts, not wanting her to tease, not now, especially when he feels like the most he deserves from Ryan is a well-timed punch.

“No, shut up, listen. You fucked up, you know you fucked up, and now you know you need to fix it. So fix it.” She reaches up to pat his cheek, having to stand on her tiptoes to do it. “And then Shane? For the love of god, just _talk_ to him. No dissembling or jokes or weird segues into talking foodstuffs. Just… be honest.”

“Be honest,” Shane repeats, as if that isn’t the most terrifying advice he’s ever been given. “Right.”

He could do that.

* * *

“I’m an asshole,” he says, barely waiting before his front door is all the way open to get the words out. “Also, hi. Thank you, for coming.”

Ryan falters in the doorway, apparently not knowing which of those greetings to address first, before he finally settles on, “You’re not an asshole.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane starts, incredulous, and struggles not to crumple in relief as Ryan huffs out a little laugh and amends, “Okay, you’re kind of an asshole.”

“Now that we’re in agreement,” Shane says, waving Ryan in with a flourish. “Come in and brace yourself, ‘cause this apology is a two-parter.”

“Oh?” Ryan wiggles his arms free of his coat, handing it over for Shane to hang up. “Sounds complicated.”

“Oh, it is. It’s a real humdinger of a sorry, Ry. Nothing less than you deserve.” _Be honest_ flashes through his mind, and Shane abruptly drops his teasing tone. “In all seriousness, Ryan. I’m – I’m sorry, for how I reacted. How dismissive I was. It wasn’t fair and I hurt you and I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Ryan studies him for a long moment. Shane tries to ignore the sensation of his face turning hot – emotional vulnerability is a hell of a thing and he’s not entirely used to experiencing it without some measure of joking or other form of dissembling involved, but this is too important. This, he has to get _right_.

“Ry.”

“Huh?”

“Ry,” Ryan repeats. “You called me Ry, just a second ago.”

Shane feels his face burn hotter. Well, shit. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have – “

“I like it,” Ryan says, easy as that. “It’s fine, big guy,” he adds, and then he grins.

Shane feels like he’s being lit up from the inside out. “I give you Ry and you give me big guy? Now that’s just unfair. Who’s the winner here? Clearly me.”

Ryan laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Shut up, Shane. And tell me what part two of this _humdinger of a sorry_ is.”

Shane grins. “I’ll do you one better, Ry. I’ll _show_ you.”

* * *

“The trick is to let the mixture steep for an hour,” Shane says, straining the mixture of milk, cream, and popcorn over a pot of whisked egg yolks and sugar. The entire kitchen smells like kernels, the aroma of salt and butter twining with the scent of pine – well, artificial pine – from the tree in his living room. “Now, you stir that and I’ll top us off.” He reaches for the two empty bottles they’d drained over the course of their ‘lesson,’ depositing them in the recycling bin under the sink before heading to the fridge.

“This is fucking magic,” Ryan says, rightly dazzled as he leans in and takes a sniff of the bubbling mixture. “It smells like popcorn, dude!”

Shane fights a smile and then just gives up. Fuck it, Ryan is cute when he’s marveling at kernel-based desserts. “Wait until you taste it,” he teases, popping the caps off both beer bottles and leaving Ryan’s on the counter within easy reach. “Once it starts forming a custard on the bottom of the spoon, we’re ready to add salt.”

“And then we eat it, right?”

“Patience, young grasshopper,” Shane intones solemnly, his lips twitching as Ryan scowls. “Then we strain it into an airtight container.”

“And then we eat it?”

“And _then_ we store it in the fridge.” He waits a few beats, really lets the tension build, and then drops the bomb. “For six hours.”

The shift from excitement to heartbreak takes about two seconds, and Shane would feel like a heel for the way Ryan’s face crumples if he could take those exaggerated sad eyes even a little bit seriously. “ _Dude_ ,” Ryan says, in a tone of utter and complete betrayal.

Shane tries and fails to fight a smile. “It’s a good thing I made a batch earlier that should be ready – oh, just about now,” he chirps, laughing outright as Ryan perks right up, his faith in Shane immediately restored.

They stow the freshly made popcorn ice cream in the fridge to set up overnight and park themselves on the couch with heaping bowls of the batch Shane had already pre-prepared. In a fit of chivalry, Shane nudges the remote toward Ryan and snorts a laugh when Ryan picks _The Great British Bake-Off_ first thing.

“I think you have an obsession with baking,” Shane says seriously, shaking his head. “It's actually a little concerning, Ryan, gotta say."

"Hey!" Ryan points his spoon at him, his lips curling. "You have no room to judge considering it's your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yeah.” Ryan pops a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, humming a single, soft note of wonder as the flavor of salt and buttery sweetness explodes across his tongue. Shane stares, a little wonderstruck himself, until Ryan swallows and finishes, “You're the one that turned me on to baking in the first place.”

_Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it_ , the tiny Jen-voice warns, but Shane’s mouth cannot be deterred. “I turned you on? It was the apron, wasn’t it? It’s always the apron.”

Ryan nearly chokes on his next spoonful of ice cream, swallowing roughly and muffling his laughter in the palm of his hand. “Jesus _Christ_ , dude,” he croaks, his eyes scrunched up at the corners, and fuck, Shane wants to kiss him. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

“I would never,” Shane mock-gasps, pressing his hand to his heart. “Dispatch my most popular employee? Think of all the grandmas and housewives in town! They’d riot!”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan cackles, a noticeable flush across his cheeks. It’s no secret – least of all to Ryan – that since he’s been in town he’s attracted a very… obvious gaggle of admirers in the patrons of the shop, from the soccer moms to the older ladies and, well, everyone in between.

“What? It’s true! I’ve never seen so many repeat customers in my entire career, and it’s not because of me _or_ my food. That’s alllll on you, Bergara. You and your – “ Boyish smile and bright laugh and ridiculous arms. “ – sparkling personality.”

Ryan barks a laugh, slumping down onto the couch cushions and cradling his bowl in his lap. “Sounds like you’ve been paying a lot of attention to my _sparkling personality_ ,” he says, and it doesn’t have to be flirty, it’s _not_ flirty. It just sounds that way.

“You… you could say that,” Shane murmurs, his fingers tightening reflexively around his own bowl of ice cream. This isn’t exactly how he pictured this night going, and he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries or make Ryan uncomfortable, especially after he’d mucked things up so spectacularly, but Ryan had been brave enough to confide in Shane. Shane should be brave enough to confide in Ryan.

Ryan tilts his head against the couch cushion, a tuft of dark hair falling over his brow. “Yeah?” he asks, soft.

“Yeah,” Shane answers, just as soft, before he laughs and slumps back against the couch, feeling his face flare with warmth. “ _Fuck_. I’m turning red, aren’t I? I’m actually fucking blushing. Just like a fucking kid.”

“Ohhh yeah.” There’s a hint of laughter in Ryan’s voice, but it isn’t mean. It’s _fond_. “You’re red alright. Practically blazing. How embarrassing for you.”

“Fuck you,” Shane laughs, turning his head to meet Ryan’s eyes, the warmth from his cheeks spilling into his chest at the look on Ryan’s face. There’s definitely fondness there, and ain’t that some shit? That Ryan could still look at him like that after Shane had fucked up so badly. _Never again_ , he thinks, a promise to himself that he plans to keep, regardless of where he and Ryan stand by the end of the night. “So now you know I’ve got a big, sloppy crush on you. Go on, yuck it up, Bergara. You deserve to crow a little.”

“I deserve to crow a _lot_ ,” Ryan counters, nudging Shane’s foot with his own. “Especially since I’ve been gearing myself up to say you’re cute for the past two and half weeks.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Ryan says. His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a nervous wobble to it that Shane wants to reach out and touch, smooth away. “Guess we’re both pretty embarrassing, huh?”

“Oh, definitely,” Shane agrees, his voice a little faint because holy shit. Holy _shit_.

“We should probably do something about that,” Ryan says, the faint _clink_ of his bowl being set down on the coffee table drifting to Shane’s ears as though from very far away.

_Please do_ , Shane doesn’t say. He probably doesn’t have to. It’s probably written all over his goddamn face. “What’d you have in mind?”

Ryan smiles, slow and sweet, sweeter than anything Shane could ever make, and ducks his head to meet Shane’s mouth with his own. His lips are chilled from their ice cream, that first press of skin against skin sending a shiver down Shane’s spine, but it’s only for a moment, just until Ryan utters a soft sound against Shane’s mouth and reaches for his jaw, his fingers warm around the curve of Shane’s cheek, his shoulders warm beneath the palms of Shane’s hands, his voice warm around the shape of Shane’s name, asking, “Is this okay – ?” with his lips catching on Shane’s, everything warm warm warm.

And Shane’s murmuring, “Yeah, _yes_ , Ry, it’s good, you’re good,” his words tripping in a way that will embarrass him later ( _Look at what you’ve done to me, Bergara!_ ), and pulling Ryan back in, allowing himself to be pressed into the couch cushions, covered and consumed, tasting salt and sweetness on Ryan’s lips, and so much heat.

He has a moment to think that Jen is never gonna let him live this down, will probably tease the ever-loving shit out of both of them when they show up at the shop tomorrow with the evidence of their night written all over their faces, but then Ryan sighs against his mouth, a breathless exhalation of Shane’s name, and Shane can’t think of anything else but how to get Ryan to say it again.


End file.
